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twitched toward her glossy hair, as black as his own, but thick and straight as a horse's tail, so long that it swept the floor around her as she knelt. He had only seen her hair twice before in his life. Once, when he had first known her and she still wore the old-style headdress of a veil under a chaplet, he had seen her hair under the veil in braids. Once, when she had miscarried of a child, Simon had brought Ian to their bedchamber to talk to Alinor and lighten her heart. Then her hair had been loose as now. Ian drew his hand away. |
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''Not enough," he agreed. The effort he made was successful. His voice was steady. "What more must be done remains to be seen." He paused for a moment and then went on somewhat hesitantly, "Weddings are a good reason for men to meet without seeming to have any suspicious purpose." |
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"Excellently thought upon," Alinor agreed heartily. |
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There was no quiver of disappointment in her voice. She knew this marriage was an arrangement of political and personal convenience for Ian. It was quite reasonable that he should think of the wedding in terms of its political usefulness. In fact, she could not understand why she felt differently. There was no change in her love for Simon. Nonetheless, when she thought of being married to Ian, her breath came a little shorter and warmth suffused her. It would be necessary to be very careful to hide such things from him. It would be unfair to display an interest and eagerness he was unable to match. |
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"Stand up." Alinor tied the chausses, dropped to her knees again, and tapped his right foot. He lifted it enough for her to slip the cross garter under. "Tighten that leg." |
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Ian seized the cloth at his thigh and drew it upward while Alinor expertly twisted the cross garter round his leg and tied it under the knee. The left leg was similarly treated. Then Alinor looked up. She held out |
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